


only dying makes us grow

by unintentionalgenius



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: "good" ending, Angst, Epistolary, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Grief, M/M, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, background rey/jessika, if not a happy one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:06:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unintentionalgenius/pseuds/unintentionalgenius
Summary: Poe dies. Finn learns to live.





	1. prologue/epilogue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lord Knows, It Would Be The First Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656711) by [Duck_Life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life). 



The resistance base was colder than he remembered; he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers or toes. He cupped his hands together absently, puffed on them, halfheartedly trying to generate warmth, never taking his eyes off of the doorway. His clean clothes sat ill on a frame that had withered since he last was assigned a uniform. Time stretched out, and no one would meet his eyes. He could feel them looking, but no one would meet his eyes. His breath was loud, echoed in his ears; it felt like too much calling attention to himself. It felt dangerous.

Finn had asked to meet in a public space, some back-corner rec room with a few uncomfortable chairs and a computer-generated window simulator that was on the fritz. Of course, Poe didn’t have a room anymore. When you’re as hard pressed for everything you have as the resistance, you don’t keep a room as a shrine to a dead man, even your best pilot. Finn had a room, though. Finn had a room and he hadn’t invited Poe to meet him there. He tried phrasing it differently: _Finn asked to meet somewhere public. Finn asked to meet somewhere with no memories attached. Finn doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in his space_. None of them sounded better.

The cold air chased his body heat deeper and deeper, coaxing him into drowsiness. His eyelids grew heavy, and he couldn’t stop them. Inevitably, his head fell forward and he jerked back up, awake again. He was wide-eyed, painfully awake for a moment, two, and then his eyelids slid closed again, certainty of safety stronger than residual adrenaline. Before he could muster his thoughts to fight it, sleep claimed him, sitting upright in a chair, head tilted back against the wall.

The lack of sound woke him. For as long as he could remember, the dull bustle of tedious activity was a lullaby. Finn was standing in the doorway, datapad clutched in both hands. He held it in front of his chest like a shield. No one else was in the room; Finn’s body was angled back towards the hallway in a way that suggested perhaps his presence had provoked that particular absence. His eyes were burning into Poe, though; he barely blinked. He made no move to speak, either.

Poe reached for a joke.

The silence persisted.

Poe took a deep breath, just for something to do, but a breathless Finn raced out ahead of him.

“Here,” he thrust the datapad out in front of him, still half a room away. Poe’s mouth opened, eyebrows raised. He willed himself to say something: something clever, something kind, something that could halfway build a bridge across months and galaxies and lives. What he managed was a whisper.

“I missed you.” Finn flinched like he had raised a hand to him. Poe slammed his mouth closed so hard his teeth hurt.

“Here.” Finn gestured with the datapad. His voice was less authoritative the second time. Mostly he sounded tired. Maybe he was tired of carrying a stranger around, hovering just over his shoulder. He took another step towards Poe.

Finn’s outstretched hand started to shake.

Poe took the pad.

“What-“ he began, waking the screen, and stopped. Emblazoned on the first page was

**Finn’s Diary**

“Ok, but I don’t understand-“

Finn couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, but he also wouldn’t look away. “She said it was like a letter. You write it like a letter. I didn’t understand, so I wrote to you.”

“Finn, I -“

“Read it.” He was steady again. He looked at a point just up and above Poe’s right ear.

“Oh, no, Finn, I can’t - you didn’t mean for - Just because you wrote them to me doesn’t mean you… owe it me. This is private, this is yours -” Finn interrupted, more certain than Poe had ever heard him.

"It was always to you, in my _wildest_ dreams they all made it to _you_ , so you might as well read it." The silence that followed was spread over the whole world, thick and far-reaching like a blizzard.

Finn turned to leave, backing away. He stopped at the last moment, one hand on the doorframe. “I have your stuff,” he said. “For - when you want it. When they…” whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find; he continued, “they gave it to me.”

“Yeah,” Poe breathed. The room felt compressed, made up of only him and Finn and the space between them. “Yeah.” He tried for a smile. It felt like cracking his face. Between one second and the next, Finn was gone. Poe sank back down into the chair, joints creaking, and considered the datapad in his hands carefully. He looked up, looked around. The room was still empty.

 _I have your stuff_ , Finn had said. Not _here’s your stuff_ , but _find me when you’re done._

Poe tapped the screen and started to read.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My first entry is as follows."

Poe:

The therapist I have been assigned by my superiors instructed me to record entries in this data pad daily. She called it a ‘diary’. Upon further questioning, she described it as “like writing a letter to someone”. You are the only person I know that is not here on base, easily reachable. Therefore, to best comply with orders, I will write to you. She was adamant that it was to be kept private, but at my discretion could be shared, though usually would not be. I am unsure what purpose is served by composing communications that are never sent. I will, of course, follow her orders.

My first entry is as follows:

Based on my observations during my time with the Resistance, the lack of scheduled meal times is standard. I have yet to determine how food intake is monitored, and I lack a source for such information. I am aware that my body has certain nutritional requirements, but I am unsure of how to fulfill them, as there is a wide variety of food presented without instruction. During my convalescence, either you or the staff provided food. I inquired with Rey, but she too is experiencing the same confusion; the variety of food available is unfamiliar to her. I will proceed to provide updates as developments occur.

I have not been allowed to contribute meaningfully to the search for you, despite repeated attempts to volunteer. General Organa explicitly informed me I was not to leave the base. While I understand the need for competent, entirely capable bodies in the search, I find myself contemplating insubordination. I need to be looking for you. I am of the opinion everyone should be looking for you. I understand this is impractical.

 

Finn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @feraldanvers for beta-ing! xoxo


	3. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have been missing for 8 days as observed from the Resistance base."

Poe:

I continue to be barred from joining the search for you. The medical staff say that I was re-injured in the blast. However, they seem confident I will recover the progress that was made previously; your hard work need not go to waste. They also seem to accept that my participation was necessary, regardless of other feelings on the matter. I am, however, confined to inactivity until cleared through a member of the medical staff. I have extensive amounts of time to report back to you about my day, my life, but very little to report. This seems inherently humorous, even if only darkly so. I have also, in my spare time, begun watching instructional videos on sewing. I intend to repair your jacket. This must be considered sufficiently inactive.

Sleep has proven elusive. I spend my days with below-average energy and yet when I attempt to sleep, it is futile. Even the hours I have reasoned must be those in which I am accustomed to sleeping with my squad are spent awake. The problem likely began shortly after I regained consciousness, but the subsequent days of activity were without a regular schedule. It is only appearing now that we have been allowed to downgrade our readiness level and return to what I am repeatedly assured is a more normal state. This return to a more sedate pace has uncovered my inability to sleep restfully. It does prove useful for reconnaissance around the base.

Last night, I walked every hallway in the Quadrant 1 Residential Quarters. I found a few I was not previously aware of. I will endeavor to improve my spatial awareness and tactical knowledge of my base in future. In my wandering, I attempted to enter your room, but it was locked. I was disoriented - I had forgotten, for a moment. I think I was doing something like sleep-walking, though I have never experienced that precise phenomenon. I was nearly asleep on my feet, though, that I know. Now, however, I also know that a grown man of average size shoulder-checking the door will not damage it in any significant way, no incline it to open. That information may prove useful. My shoulder is only slightly bruised. My back will stop aching soon. No medical attention required.

You have been missing for 8 days as observed from the Resistance base.

Finn


	4. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know that I have already signed off, but - I feel my log is inaccurate by omission."

Poe:  
I have been exposed to something called “physical therapy”. It is meant to allow an injured body to regain as much function as possible. I have been subjected to a physical therapy regime in order to allow my back to heal in the best possible manner. With the exception of that single moment of adrenaline before we split up, I have not been able to lift my arms over shoulder height.   
Physical therapy is not an entirely pleasant experience. It seems targeted to cause pain in all of the places most susceptible to it. It exhausts me, but I am still unable to sleep. I do not understand the point.  
The mantra of my instructor appears to be “Take it slowly”, coupled with “one day at a time”. In what other way could I take it? He frequently employs humor to diffuse tension; or at least, I think he is trying to be humorous. I rarely understand the joke. I think this is an instance of cultural confusion exacerbated by my own fatigue clouding my faculties. I hope in future I regain enough of my capacity for thought to interpret Resistance humor.   
Finn

I know that I have already signed off, but - I feel my log is inaccurate by omission.   
I threw a chair. Not at a particular target; I allowed rage to overcome my self-control. It will not happen again.  
Finn (again)


End file.
